Total pages in book: 71
Estimated words: 65643 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 328(@200wpm)___ 263(@250wpm)___ 219(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 65643 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 328(@200wpm)___ 263(@250wpm)___ 219(@300wpm)
Andrew wanted me to fly out to New York City where he was shooting for the next week. It would get my mind off things, he said.
“That’ll work,” Garrett said when I told him. “And it’ll be good for you to get out of town.”
I thought about it. I did have a few days off. And I could look for a dress for Noemi’s wedding while I was there…
“I think I will.” I waited, half hoping that Garrett would say something…anything…that would make the kiss real again. I knew I shouldn’t want it. It was a very bad idea. Near career suicide if we were caught when I was supposed to be with Andrew.
Still, I waited.
But all Garrett said was, “Great.” His voice had no inflection, not a flicker of jealousy or approval. Like he was purposely suppressing his emotions.
Weirdly, that made my heart flip. You didn’t work that hard to suppress your emotions unless…unless…
“I’ll let Noemi know you’re alive,” Garrett went on, his voice returning to normal. “But it would help me out if you’d text back once in a while. She loves you, you know.”
I did know. But for some reason, I wished Garrett hadn’t mentioned her. It made me feel like the only reason he had called had been for her.
“I love her too, but she doesn’t have to worry about me all the time,” I said, trying to keep the snap out of my voice. “I’m not a kid.”
Garrett snorted. “You think that being in your twenties reassures the people who love you? The twenties are the scariest damn time. Old enough to get in real trouble, not old enough to know better.”
“I know how to stay out of trouble,” I said, losing the battle not to sound pissed.
Garrett’s snort became a full-on laugh. “Bullshit, Destiny. You’re a case study in making bad decisions.”
“Clearly,” I snapped. “Or I wouldn’t have ended up in a dark corner with you the other night.”
There were several seconds of heavy silence. I had to cover my mouth to keep from rushing to fill it with words. Which words would have come out? I have no idea. It could have been more abuse; it could have been an apology. I wasn’t sure which would be worse.
“I guess bad decisions aren’t just for people in their twenties,” Garrett said, his voice devoid of the humor that had been there just moments ago.
Unexpectedly, tears sprang into my eyes. The day had already wrung me out emotionally, and maybe it was stupid, but Garret’s words hurt.
“You’re an asshole,” I said.
He sighed. “And don’t you forget it.”
I hung up the phone, wishing I had a landline so I could slam a receiver down into a base. I had to settle for punching my pillow and wishing it was Garrett’s face.
Then, when my tears were dry, I booked my flight to New York City.
17
GARRETT
At happy hour the next week, Landon helpfully directed me to the pictures of Andrew Quinn and Destiny Pollock “sneaking” around New York City. They were both in all black, caps pulled low, heads ducked. In some of the pictures, their hands hung at their sides, inches from touching. In others, they were loosely entwined. You could see the space between their fingers, like a loose knit weave of a handclasp.
It was the third week of October. Destiny’s work on the movie was wrapping up in another few days. She’d been flying to New York City nearly every time she had two consecutive days off. The Jasmine story was losing steam the longer it went without the DA filing any charges. The tabloids were all over the pairing of Andrew and Destiny. I wondered if they thought it was clever how they used the word Magical in every fucking headline, as if the other ten headline writers hadn’t done the exact same thing.
I wondered when I’d become such a masochist.
I told myself that I had to follow any stories about Destiny. It was my fucking job, after all. But it wasn’t my job to read them word for word, to scan the pictures for subtext. To want to punch Andrew Quinn’s handsome, all-American face in until Julian had to recast him for the sequel.
I tamped down the violent frustration churning in my gut and pushed Landon’s phone away from me. “Yeah, I saw these.”
He smirked. “I’m sure you did.”
“Because it’s my fucking job to make sure she’s staying out of trouble,” I reminded him. “If she doesn’t get paid, I don’t.”
“Interesting terms,” Dominic noted, joining the conversation. “Not your usual way of doing business.”
Dominic was a business manager. I often wished that instead of managing other people’s business, he’d just mind his own. Now was one of those times. He wasn’t as perceptive as Landon–no one was–but once he caught the scent of something interesting, he was like a bloodhound.